


Buy you a drink?

by lola381pce



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Companionable Snark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flirting, Inappropriate Humor, Mild Language, Physical Disability, Prosthesis, Scars, Sexual Content, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5440040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was a mark; that was all. S.H.I.E.L.D. had to learn more about the intentions of the A.T.C.U. and the head of the organisation. And in order to get that information he had to make her trust him. He'd done it dozens of times before in his career as a field agent. This would be no different. It was just sex after all...except apparently it wasn't. Not this time. Not with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly the characters don't belong to me but to Marvel and ABC. I'm just having a little fun with them.
> 
> I don't know the name of Rosalind's cardiologist husband (unfortunately she wasn't around long enough for us to find out...so very disappointing writers) so I've called him David, it's a good name for an honest man.
> 
> What happened "that night" in her home that we didn't see? I'm sure we all have our own ideas...this is mine. 
> 
> Warning for those who're not keen on explicit sex - it doesn't happen until the last chapter. So if you'd like to read the story but want to avoid the sex scene you can stop at chapter five.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy. Please feel free to leave comments or kudos (or both if you feel so inclined). It helps to know what you think.

Price flinched when she caught sight of her reflection in the window. She shook her head to clear it...again. It was the third time she’d caught herself staring into space her mind replaying the events of the previous twenty-four hours. Even by her standards, it had been a hell of a day.

_It wasn’t every morning you were convinced to blow off P.O.T.U.S. and several other world leaders at NORAD. All because the guy in charge of your transport, the Director of an outlaw alphabet agency, a man you hardly knew and certainly didn’t trust, had to go rescue a friend from her husband…well, ex-husband. Nor was it every day that said ex-husband turned into a scary-as-hell Inhuman and tried to kill you.Twice. First by trying to squeeze the life from your throat and second by tossing you over a balcony like a ragdoll._

But she didn’t die. Obviously. Another Inhuman,Coulson’s young protégé and leader of the Inhumans, graciously saved her ass by creating some sort of energy field catching her as she plummeted to the ground. Graciously because they hadn’t exactly been friends pre-Lash attack (hell, they weren’t exactly friends now grateful as she was to the younger woman).

She also had the sad misfortune of watching Coulson’s friend, Agent May, having to shoot her ex-husband / Lash not knowing if the bullets she pumped into him would save him or kill him. And to top it all off, in an unexpected show of love along with complete faith in another’s opinion, May turned him over to her care because she believed the A.T.C.U.’s scientists had a chance of curing him. Or perhaps she was just the lesser of two evils.

Yeah it had been a complete bitchfest of a day.

It had also been one hell of a night. She ached. All over. The strain on her face lifted for a moment as she remembered his hands and mouth and teeth on her body stroking and sucking and nipping their way across her skin. She sat back in her seat and bit her lip trying to stop the smirk from developing into a full blown grin. God! What was she? A teenager? It had been a long time since she felt like this; if she’d ever felt like this. And you know what? It felt great.

***

Price wasn’t the only one having problems concentrating. Coulson’s brain hadn’t fully engaged after his time with the head of a rival and as yet very much untrusted government organisation. Sure, the A.T.C.U. had the backing of the President but remembering Ellis’s recent speech on the Inhumans, the man and his office, didn’t exactly inspire Coulson with confidence. He needed to know if Rosalind Price had a hand in helping P.O.T.U.S. shape that opinion or if someone else was controlling the reins.

Admittedly he hoped it was the latter. And although he wasn’t anywhere close to trusting Price, he did find their verbal sparring sessions kinda fun. The corner of Coulson’s mouth pulled up with the beginnings of a smile. She was kinda fun. Fuck! Last night had been a whole lot of fun, well...once they'd gotten past a few sensitive issues. And it had been a long time since he’d experienced much of that.

All too quickly though the brief smile was gone, replaced with a frown as the horrors of the previous day flashed through his mind.

He felt both angry and sad for Garner; he was genuinely a good man and didn’t deserve any of this - but then who did? Daisy? Joey? Alisha? No. None of them did. His frown deepened as he recalled the physical struggle he had with Andrew… no, Lash… trying to prevent him from hurting anyone in the abandoned admin building. It was one of the few times he’d actually been thankful for his prosthetic hand as it gave him the extra strength to hold the Inhuman back for a few precious moments.

He was also devastated for May. Although he’d been crushed when she’d decided to leave with Andrew after the events on the Iliad, to leave him to recover alone, he’d understood. The truth was, he had felt almost bereft without her by his side; he had missed his right hand as much as his left. And sometimes it had hurt almost as much. But he understood she needed, they needed a second chance at happiness and for them to have it torn away like this was...cruel. It was beyond cruel. And for a fleeting moment he thought of Audrey. He ran his right hand over his face, slumping back in his seat with a sigh. His best friend was suffering and there was nothing he could do. Not until she was ready.

He could only hope that the A.T.C.U. scientists were close to finding a cure otherwise… Coulson shook his head at the implication if one couldn’t be found. For those who were dangerous at least. The others he still hoped could live side by side with non-gifteds with Daisy and her team keeping watch over them.

As for Daisy. He smiled softly. Daisy continued to amaze him. Her powers were growing at an incredible rate but thankfully her control was developing at a similar pace. And it was all down to her; her dedication, her determination, her strength. She was pretty incredible. That new ability of manipulating air waves had surprised them both not to mention Price who had been shaken but grateful by Daisy’s gift.

In retrospect, he was also grateful to Daisy for saving Price after Lash threw her from the balcony. He may not trust the A.T.C.U. leader yet but he was finding he actually liked her. Especially after the way things had gone the previous night. Not the sex. He was a spy, an agent; it wasn’t the first time he’d used his body to get something he needed. However, it should have been just sex; it turned out to be anything but…that was what was making him question his objectivity.


	2. Chapter 2

_Price watched Coulson as he followed May’s retreating back with his eyes. “Do you need to go after her?”_

_He didn’t answer at once, waiting for a moment before turning his gaze to Price. “She wouldn’t want me to, not right now.”_

_She glanced up at him and moved a little closer. “It’s been a long day.”_

_“Mm-hmm”_

_“Buy you a drink?”_

_Coulson nodded. “Please.”_

***

Price had her driver drop them off at the Half-Moon Pub. It was busy but not so crowded they wouldn’t be able to find a table should they want one. She led Coulson over to the bar and nodded to the barman who smiled as he watched them approach.

“Hey! I remember you. Been a while.”

“Yeah, hotshot. You miss me?”

He laughed rather than answer and reached up for a half-full bottle of whisky on a shelf full of scotch. Glenfiddich 15-year old single malt. She grinned at him.

“You do remember!”

“You're kinda hard to forget.”

He poured a generous amount into a tumbler placing it in front of her. His eyes flicked towards Coulson who was standing close behind Price, not quite touching but certainly well inside her personal space. Possessive or protective; he wasn’t sure which.

She’d been in before, maybe half a dozen times, and on each occasion he’d watched at least one guy and, if memory served him right, a woman try to pick her up but he’d never seen anyone be that daring with her before...at least, not without ending up wearing their drink if she happened to be in a good mood or an aching pair of testicles if she wasn't (and she had paid for the damage caused to the bar that time). Oh yeah, he remembered her.

He also remembered she always drank alone. This was a first.

“Nice suit.”

Price turned slightly to look at Coulson making her appraisal of him obvious with a slow perusal from his eyes to his shoes and back again with the merest pause at his groin on the way up. When she reached his eyes this time they stayed locked.

“Yeah. He’s pretty.”

If it was supposed to unnerve him it didn’t work. On the contrary, he felt his dick twitch in his pants. He tipped his head to the side and smirked at her but made no comment.

Price pursed her lips holding back a smile. Damn! He was a cool bastard. After a moment she asked, “So, Phil, what’s your poison?”

“Not sure if I should answer that. You might mean it literally.”

Price snorted as did the barman. He set a second tumbler down and poured more of the whisky into the glass. Leaving the bottle he walked away while the pair sat on a couple of unclaimed bar stools. Ever the gentleman Coulson waited until she was comfortable before he sat himself.

“You're such an ass!”

“Some people like my ass.”

“Cute.”

“So it's been said.”

Price gave another unladylike snort. “Shut up and drink.”

She lifted one of the glasses to her lips taking an appreciative sip of the liquid relishing the slight burn as it slowly trickled down her throat. Savouring its taste she peered over the rim at Coulson.

Coulson lifted his own tumbler holding the whisky in his mouth to pick up the subtle flavours of sherry and oak from the barrel, spices - maybe cinnamon and ginger - and something else he couldn’t quite place. He swallowed. Usually his preferred choice was Highland Park but he could become accustomed to this. It was good. Marzipan. That was the last flavour. Fuck! He hoped it was marzipan and not arsenic. Paranoid Phillip?

“You hungry?”

Coulson considered the question and decided that indeed he was; the last time he’d eaten was before getting on Zephyr One. He nodded. “I could eat.”

She gave him a lazy smile but decided to refrain from the filthy comment that was on the tip of her tongue which made her think of another filthy comment. Instead she nodded and caught the eye of the barman again.

“What’s up, trouble?”

“Kitchen still open?”

“Nah. Closed half an hour ago.”

Price shrugged apologetically at Coulson. In her head she reasoned they could always get something at her place…probably.

“I could rustle you up a club and some fries maybe?”

Price and Coulson traded shrugs and nods. ‘Hotshot’ turned away again to see to their food.

“Just one fries,” Price called after him. “I can always steal some of his.”

Coulson raised his eyebrows. “What makes you think I’d let you?”

“What makes you think you can stop me?”

Without missing a beat he leaned forward and growled in her ear, “How hard do you want me to try?”

He sat back again and keeping his eyes on hers took another drink of his scotch. Somehow Price managed to control the shiver that made a brave attempt to roll down her spine but it was a near thing. That voice did things to her she wouldn’t admit to in a court of law.

Instead she joined him with his drink weighing up how the evening could go if they were both willing. She knew she was and apparently, so was he. Maybe they shouldn’t have bothered with the food but with the slight buzz she felt in her head from the few sips of Glenfiddich she’d had, she knew she it was the right call. She had a feeling not being in control around Phil Coulson was not a good idea. Not sexually - she didn’t for an instant believe he was that kind of guy - but he could probably get more information out of her than she was willing to give if her head wasn’t in the game. Pillow talk could prove interesting. She smirked. Perhaps she was getting a little ahead of herself.

***

The food was good. The company was better. And Price acquired more than a few of Coulson’s fries. On the spur of the moment, she picked up a matchbook as they left. Not as a reminder of the evening or anything; that would be sappy and romantic...like some teenage kid with a crush...and she was neither of those things - well, not that she would ever admit to anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

Coulson insisted on seeing Price back to her townhouse despite her protests that she’d made the walk plenty of times before without an escort and, surprisingly enough, without incident; and she could sure as hell take care of herself. But it was said with a glint in her eye as though to challenge him.

She wasn’t making it easy for him. If Coulson had a type it was someone with a strong character, independent and intelligent and Price was the epitome of all of the above. Plus she was as sassy as hell with her snark and quips. He got that; he really did and he found he liked that side of her...maybe a little too much.

Therein lay his dilemma; he was finding it difficult to remain objective and carry out his mission. And make no mistake, this was a mission. She was a mark. Plain and simple. He required intel on the A.T.C.U. and the organisation's head to know if their motives were good or driven by H.Y.D.R.A. and for that he needed her to trust him. And for her to trust him...well, it wasn’t the first time he’d used his body to get what he wanted from a mark. He’d done this dozens of times as a field agent; a few as a handler; but this was the first as Director. He just needed to stay focussed otherwise he could see the tables being turned with Price gathering information on S.H.I.E.L.D. Yeah, not gonna happen.

The problem was, he could also see himself falling for Rosalind Price. And falling hard.

***

“So we’re here, Lancelot. Apparently your mere presence kept hoards of bad guys at bay.”

“M’lady,” he said giving her a little bow with a flourish and then groaned shaking his head. Damn! He was a dork.

“You’re such a dork!” she laughed, wrinkling her nose. She climbed the stairs and unlocked the door disappearing inside without looking back. Coulson remained at the bottom momentarily unsure of himself. Should he follow her? Should he just leave? Shit!

“Jesus, Phil!” she called to him. “Come in already!”

He winced at his uncertainty. Smooth, Phil. Really smooth. Did you learn that in spy school or dork class? He took the steps two at a time and closed the door behind him, making sure it was secure.

“Good decision.” Rosalind kept her back to him as she poured each of them a measure of scotch from a decanter into two matching tumblers. She’d taken off her jacket and dropped it over the back of the couch.

Phil did the same with his own then walked towards her loosening his tie and unfastening the top button of his shirt, his stride confident and sure again. Instead of answering her, he brushed the hair from the nape of her neck and placed a gentle kiss on it as he laid his other hand on her waist.

She leaned back against him resting her head against his shoulder molding her body to his. It was nice. This was nice. It had been a long time for her. No-one special at least. Not since David…and she thought maybe, _maybe_ Phil could be someone special; once he proved she could trust him. But until then she would simply enjoy the moment.

Phil slid his palm across her stomach holding her gently to him his thumb stroking her through her blouse. She covered his hand with hers her own thumb mimicking the movement against his skin. They stood like that for a few moments not speaking just taking comfort from the closeness.

“Thank you for the invite,” he murmured against her head.

She pursed her lips to hold back a smile. “Yeah, well don’t go thinking I’m a soft touch, Director Coulson. Maybe I just didn’t like you making my sidewalk untidy.”

He smiled into her hair. Moment over between them, he asked, “Glenfiddich?”

She carefully pulled away to reach for a glass and turned to face him. Tapping the rim of her glass against his she made a toast.

“To future endeavours.”

He smiled at the sentiment. “Not always as intense as today perhaps, but yeah.”

An emotion he couldn’t quite read (fear? agitation? distress?) passed over her face. Just for a second and then it was gone making him think he’d perhaps imagined it. She nodded towards the seating area and chose one of the chairs to drop into; he relaxed on the end of the couch nearest her.

“So what do yours call me?”

Genuinely puzzled he frowned at her.

“Your team. They must have a name for me. Everyone does. At the A.T.C.U. each department has one.” She paused for a moment taking a sip of her scotch.

“Hmmm. R&D is The Bitch which, quite frankly is disappointing. You think being R&D they’d come up with something more original. HR have the reasonably obvious Bitch Face but between you and me, I quite like it. I think about putting on my Bitch Face when I go into meetings with jerks who think because I wear a skirt they think they can screw me over. Never gonna happen. Logistics however they are surprisingly inventive; Iron Britches. I think the head of department must have found out about my collection of biographies. Then there’s Tactical with Demon Queen. Not sure if that was Banks, no probably not Banks...”

She was babbling. Phil studied her carefully and as he observed her body language, he noted it had gone from relaxed and mellow to tense and defensive in the time it had taken them to sit. She was perched on the edge of her chair her body folded over with her elbows on her knees tucked in tight. Her hands were trembling slightly too. Although neither of them had talked about it, by accident or design, he wondered if perhaps he’d unwittingly triggered the realisation of how close she’d come to dying today with his response to her toast. If that was the case he very much regretted it.

Phil placed his drink on the coffee table, taking care to use the coaster, and slowly moved over to Rosalind. He crouched down in front of her and gently removed the glass from her less than steady grip, setting it down beside his. He took her hands in his and held them rubbing his thumb over her skin; it was an instinctive gesture but a soothing one.

Rosalind looked up at him confused and annoyed. Her reactions were slow and weak as she tried to pull her hands from his and her pupils were dilated both of which confirmed his thoughts of delayed shock. He didn’t tighten his grip but he didn’t let her go either.

Keeping his voice calm and reassuring, Phil reverted to handler mode, as though maintaining control of a volatile situation...perhaps he was.

“Rosalind, you’re safe now.”

“Oh? Why? Because _you’re_ here?”

“No,” he replied gently taking no offence at her sarcastic tone. “Because _you_ are.”

She stopped struggling and looked at him as though seeing him properly for the first time. He was right. She was alive. Thanks in no small part to his team. But the fact remained - she was alive. She leaned her head into the crook of his neck and let go of a long cleansing breath allowing her body relax against him again. They remained like that until Phil had to move slightly, his thigh muscles beginning to cramp from the uncomfortable position. She jerked her head off his shoulder; she hadn’t fallen asleep but he had a gently calming effect on her.

He touched his fingers to her face. “Shhh. It’s okay.”

“Are you alright?”

“Sure. Just thinking I should have kept up with yoga or tai chi.”

Rosalind smiled at him as he stood and stretched. “Sorry.”

He have her that little half-smile of his in return. “Don’t be. I’m...really not flexible.”

She raised an eyebrow at him and smirked as he winced at his wording which was completely unintentional this time. Seriously? Since he’d arrived at her townhouse, he was making dorks look cool.

Trying to recover some semblance of dignity, he stood (managing to ignore the pins and needles in his legs) and held out his hand to her. She took it without hesitating and rose up from her chair to stand in front of him. Her gaze dropped down to his lips before returning to his eyes. He neither hugged her or kissed her like she thought he would. That surprised her. Instead he led her over to the couch where he toed off his shoes and sat down making himself comfortable with his feet up and his back resting against the arm. He gave her hand a gentle tug in a gesture for her to join him. This time she did hesitate. This was more intimate than either a hug or a kiss (well she supposed that depended on the kiss). She didn’t expect this. Any of this. She’d brought him home to fuck and feel good but this...

Phil was good at reading people, very good, but he was beginning to worry he’d made the wrong call here. Rosalind was leaving him hanging and he was starting to feel like the biggest idiot this side of the universe. He knew she had no-one in her life to provide support when she needed it. Not physically at any rate. So when he offered it, even taking her independent nature into account, she should he reacted favourably. Often they were the ones who needed it the most; a lifetime’s experience had taught him that. However it looked as though he’d made a huge mistake this time. Just as he was about to admit defeat, she squeezed his hand and nodded, gracing him with a small, shy smile.

Holding back a sigh of relief dropped his foot to the floor so that she didn’t have to anything ungainly like climb over him and once she was settled between his legs, her back to his chest and stomach, her head resting against his shoulder, he wrapped his arms around her blanketing her in warmth and comfort. She curled her hand around his forearm and squeezed it gently.

“Just when I think I get you, you do something to surprise me,” she told him against her better judgment.

“There’s nothing to get. I’m a pretty simple guy.”

“No. I believe you’re 180o of that, Phil Coulson.”

He touched his lips to her head and kissed her hair. There was nothing he could say to that. At this moment he was having a tough time wrestling with his emotions; his genuine desire to comfort her against his need to interrogate her. It was only his ability to compartmentalise that was allowing the latter to wait. For now.

“I puke.”

“Excuse me?”

“I puke. It might be a few days later. But when it hits me. That I survived something big. I throw up.” He shrugged and tightened his arms, just a little. “I like this better.”

Rosalind snorted then laughed. Really laughed. He smiled against her hair as her body shook against him.

When she finally stopped she slapped his leg. “You are such a…”

“Dork? Yeah. I’m sensing a lot of that tonight.”

They lay quietly for a while just enjoying touching each other. Nothing sexual. Just touching. Fingers stroking skin that was bare and clothing when it wasn’t.

“What would your husband have done?”

The question shocked her. She tensed in his arms. “Wow! Talk about left field. Why would you ask that?”

“Sorry.”

“No really, Phil. Why would you ask that?”

She had turned slightly to look at him. This is what she meant. Well, no it wasn’t. She meant it as a compliment before. This just threw her off balance. She had no idea where it came from and it was disconcerting.

He shrugged. “A few years back I had someone. We were…” he shrugged again. “Anyway, I remember I had a day where I was considering giving everything up. Leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. I did something that was against every principle I had but it saved a life. Several lives actually. I couldn’t tell her what was wrong and, usually, I could hide my feelings. But this time. This time...I couldn’t. She didn’t ask me about it. She just lay with me on the couch and held me.”

Rosalind relaxed against him a little again. “Did it help?”

“Yeah. For a while.”

“But she’s not part of your life now?”

“No. The next day, I went back to work. When I got home she told me she’d accepted a job in Portland.”

“Oh.”

“I guess I knew it wasn’t going to last. I hoped it would and it was nice while it did. I guess...I just wondered.”

Price didn’t answer him right away. It was such a personal and painful thing for him to share with her.

“If he’d been home tonight, I suppose he would have done something like this.” She stopped. “Actually no, he wouldn’t. He’d have kissed me. We’d have shared some wine and then he would have taken me to bed.”

She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it softly. “Take me to bed, Phil. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”


	4. Chapter 4

They stood awkwardly for a few moments until he tipped his head to the side to look at her, his intense blue eyes holding her gaze then he brushed her hair behind her ear and bent down to kiss her tenderly, touching his fingertips to her cheek. She surprised him with the soft little moan that escaped. Her lips parted and her hands slid over his shoulders tugging him closer. He dropped his hands to her waist and carefully pulled her between his legs.

Accepting her invitation, his tongue began to explore her mouth. He was slow and gentle and it took her breath away. Little by little the kiss began to deepen into something more heated, more passionate and their hands began to wander; hers to the nape of his neck to slide up and run through his hair, his to skim up her back before parting - one to remain between her shoulderblades, the other to touch her breast gently. She moaned again but with more urgency. She could feel him harden against her and she felt a rush of heat between her legs. He felt so good, so right.

She took her hands away from his body and pulled the loosened knot from his tie, dragging it from his collar dropping it to the floor with a careless abandon. Clumsily, she unfastened the buttons of his shirt down to the fourth when suddenly, inexplicably he stopped and pulled his head away breathing heavily. He placed his hand over both of hers to prevent her from going any further. For a moment he stood frozen as the reality of the situation washed over him then he closed his eyes tightly and shook his head in frustration before letting it drop forward.

Startled by this totally unexpected change in his manner, Price took a step back and looked up at him with wide eyes. Concern spread across her face as she slowly got her breathing under control.

“Phil?”

He didn’t speak. Didn’t meet her eyes. Just stood with his hand still on hers, head bowed and his heart thumping in his chest.

“Phil. Please. What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered softly.

She pulled one hand free and touched his face gently with her fingertips.

“Hey, what is it?” And then it dawned on her. With the palm of her hand still captured beneath his she pressed lightly against his chest roughly where she thought the scar would be.

“Is it this?”

Phil stiffened beneath her touch.

“It’s been a long time since...it’s been a long time,” he said quietly. Since Audrey. He let go a small, sad laugh that almost stuck in his throat. “And I’m not the man I used to be.”

“Look at me.”

His head remained down.

“Look at me.”

Slowly he raised his chin. His face was carefully blank however the sadness in his eyes betrayed the torment that raged within him. But there was also a hint of defiance. She could work with that.

“I didn’t know the man you were. I’m just getting to know the man you are. And I kinda like him. The dorky petrolhead who asked me the name of my car.”

His face softened slightly at her use of the term “dorky petrolhead”.

“M not,” he mumbled embarrassed to think of their meeting at the beach when he was eyeing up her car. But ~~she~~ **_he_ ** was a really nice ‘57 Ford Thunderbird.

Rosalind tapped his chest. “Phil, when I tell a guy “eyes up here” it’s usually because he’s ogling my breasts, not my car.”

He smiled a little at that.

“And the nerdy S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with the laser finger on his hand. It does, right? The laser finger thing?”

His smile deepened a little more. “Still classified.”

Rosalind grinned. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

Keeping her eyes on his, she slipped her fingers inside his shirt lightly touching the tips to the ridge of scarring. He allowed her that at least.

“I can’t imagine how it must have been for you. How it is for you now but I’d still like to get to know you. If you’ll let me.”

For the longest time he didn’t move. May had said something to him once and although he still remembered every word he didn’t realise the full significance until now.

 

> _“You feel different because you are different. Whether it was 8 seconds or 40, you died. There’s no way you can go through a trauma like that and not come out of it changed. The point of these things is to remind us that there is no going back, there’s only moving forward.”_

Maybe they were both right. Maybe he should finally stop looking back. Maybe it was time to move forward.

Slowly, as though not wanting to startle her, he touched his right hand to her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek bone so gently she could almost have imagined it. He leaned down to kiss the corner of her mouth.

“Thank you,” he said softly. He hesitated for a moment then added, “I should go.”

Rosalind smiled sadly at him. “If you want to. But I hope you’ll stay.”

She bent down to retrieve his tie and handed it to him and without looking back she turned to walk to her en-suite giving him the choice to stay or leave closing the door with a soft click behind her.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Decision made, Phil curled his hand around the bedroom door handle. He checked it was firmly closed and made his way to sit on the bed and wait for her. It was time to move forward.

***

When Rosalind returned from the bathroom instead of her pants and blouse she wore a short robe that finished mid-thigh. Phil swallowed as his eyes strayed over her slim, muscular legs. She had great legs...and sexy feet.

He stood up from the bed as she made the short journey over to him, or perhaps it was the longest, and stopped an arm’s length away.

“I’m glad you stayed,” she told him honestly, looking up at him.

He ducked his head and returned her look giving her that sweet little half-smile of his. He nodded. He was too but he didn't know how to say it out loud without it sounding insincere. Keeping his eyes on hers his right hand moved to his shirt to undo the last few buttons. She closed the remaining distance and placed her hand on top of his to stop him.

“We don't need to do this, Phil. I just...I’d like you to hold me for a while.”

“That's all you want?”

Her smile was soft but a little bit playful too. Her eyes dropped to his mouth for a moment then returned to his eyes again.

“No,” she admitted. “But I’d be happy with it.”

Phil ducked his head again feeling a slight blush heat his cheeks. Carefully he removed her hand and she let it drop to her side. He continued to take off his shirt as though there had been no interruption and when he reached the top of his pants, he undid those too with the minimum of fuss, yanking the belt out of the loops and leaving the ends open to pull the shirt free. He unfastened the left cuff button and unsnapped the right. Someone had thoughtfully replaced the button with a popper. She didn't comment but she found it incredibly touching.

He paused for the smallest fraction then removed his shirt completely dropping it to the floor. All through he’d kept his eyes on her face for this moment. To gauge her reaction. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open while his stomach lurched.

“Hey! You got hip dents.”

Okay. Not the exact reaction he expected.

“What?”

The tip of her tongue slipped out briefly to lick her lips before she responded.

“You got hip dents,” she repeated slowly. “Of all the things you keep hidden under there, a sexy pair of these was pretty much the last thing I expected.” She touched her finger to one of them tracing the indentation from his hipbone to the top of his low riding boxer briefs making his stomach muscles dance. “Mmmm. Nice.”

When she looked back at him she smiled a little at the expression on his face; apparently he appeared to be somewhat dumbstruck. There was the biggest, ugliest scar on his chest and she was fixating on his...

“Never underestimate the power of hip dents for a girl…” she shrugged. “Or a guy.”

He didn't know what to say. He’d built himself up for pity or disgust or shock but not this. It wasn't logical but in a way he almost felt her indifference was worse. Rosalind obviously saw something in his face and quickly tried to make amends.

“Phil. I’m sorry. I know this was difficult for you. I wasn’t trying to be insensitive or make light of it. Sometimes I say the wrong thing.”

His expression changed; it very clearly said, “Ya think?”

She sighed. “I’m not a civilian, Phil. I’ve seen serious field injuries before. My husband was a cardiologist - you think he didn’t bring photos of work home with him?”

He honestly hadn’t thought about that but now that she mentioned it, the scar was similar to that of open-heart surgery. If there was anyone who would be immune to his injury, it would be the wife of a heart surgeon. Shit! _He_ was the insensitive one. Not her. Now it was his turn to be sorry.

She looked at him seeking permission and when he nodded she carefully ran her fingers through the hairs of his chest and over the ridge. With time it had faded to a pale pink. Another year or two and it would dim to white. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. After a moment, she turned him around and saw another larger scar which ran parallel to the first. She stroked the back of his neck and his shoulders with feather-light brushes then across to the scar. He sighed. Rosalind turned him around again.

She reached down and lifted his prosthetic hand. Holding it in hers she pressed the palm of her free hand gently against his chest.

“These are part of the man you are now and they certainly don’t make you any less of one. If you think of the history behind them they make you pretty special actually.”

She held up his hand. “You lost this risking your life for your team. And someone on that team thought enough of you to take it without hesitating to keep you alive.”

She pressed against the scar again.“You got this giving your life for something you believed in. Your _life_ , Phil! Jesus! You took on a god. That’s pretty balsy. Insane but balsy.”

She paused and when she looked at his face again he was at peace.

“Take me to bed, Phil.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: sexy times ahead.

The first time was slow and gentle stemming from recently exposed emotions and whispered conversations on the couch. She rode him on the bed arching into his thrusts, rolling her hips to take his cock in deeper. He felt so good inside her. Bigger than she imagined, stretching her open, filling her completely.

Their eyes were half-closed, pupils blown, yet they watched each other’s expressions change, flitting from one state of arousal to another. Every so often one of them would squeeze their eyes tight shut, biting their lip, releasing a soft moan when something felt just right, a wave of pleasure rolling over them.

Phil’s hands were on Rosalind’s hips, neither holding nor guiding, just resting there. As she frowned with concentration, her teeth pulling at her lower lip, he felt the urge to raise his hand to her face touching it gently with the tips of his fingers. Her skin burned as he traced the contours of her cheekbone down to her jaw. His thumb brushed across her lip, plump and red from her abuse.

She drew it into her mouth sucking on it running her tongue over and around the pad making him groan beneath her pushing the back of his head into the pillows and his cock deep inside her. His reaction encouraged her to rock a little harder, a little faster with breathy whimpers and quiet grunts being uttered by them both.

Eventually she released his thumb with one final flick of her tongue and he continued his journey trailing down to her throat, his splayed fingers pausing there for a moment before ghosting over her skin making her shudder.

“Okay?” he whispered.

She gave him a nod and ground down onto him even harder bending forward for a moment to scratch her nails through the hair of his chest and stomach. Her quick grin was full of mischief as she felt the muscles jump before she leaned back again. He groaned and pushed his heels into the mattress thrusting up to meet her. Her breath hitched in her throat more so when his fingers trailed a path over her collarbone to her chest and finally to the swell of her breast, beautiful and firm, fitting the palm of his hand perfectly.

As he touched her several things struck him at once: how soft and smooth her skin was beneath his rough, calloused hands; her scent, a combination of citrus and spices; and the heat from her body on his fingertips. The combination made his mouth dry and his heart pound in his chest.  He looked up at her and saw she was staring back at him this time with a smile playing across her lips her face flushed with arousal.

He ran his still wet pad over her nipple. Already hard, it pebbled into a tight little bud as the air cooled over it. He rolled it between his forefinger and thumb pinching it hard making her gasp and moan above him.

She reached down to her hip held by his prosthetic hand and gently prised it away bringing it to her other breast moving it against the flesh. That simple act almost made him break down. She didn’t care it wasn’t real, she cared only that it was part of him. He caressed her with a light touch afraid to hurt her until she guided him, pressing the palm against her, tightening the fingers teaching him how to knead her and make it feel good for her. He brushed his thumb over the nipple has he’d done with this real hand forcing another gasp from her. He was a quick study.

Up until now they had been moving to a rhythm that was slow and relaxed as she slid up and down his length but now they began to build a faster pace until their breath came in short frantic bursts punctuated by small cries from her and the occasional growl coming from deep within his chest.

Sensing she was getting close, Phil dropped his right hand to her clit and pressed his thumb against the slick nub rolling round it in tight little circles, gently rubbing the sides. Rosalind closed her eyes and threw back her head, panting in short, gasping breaths, as the orgasm began to claim her until she cried out and shuddered finally tipping over the edge into glorious. Her hips stuttered in their movement but his didn’t and he pushed up again and again as her muscles tightened and fluttered around his cock. Moments later his own body went rigid, the muscles straining as he came and he moaned through gritted teeth as the powerful orgasm surged through him.

She collapsed on top of him. Oh god! This hadn't been her plan. A quick roll between the sheets to remind her she was alive was more what she was thinking - certainly at the start of the evening. Life in the field could be fast and brutal; today, if anything, had proved that. And sex if it happened between agents was exactly the same. She hadn't expected this; his sincerity, his tenderness, his compassion. Damn him! She desperately hoped she could trust him. She didn't want to lose any of this. It would hurt too much.

He wrapped his arms around her as she sprawled over him. This wasn’t what he’d intended; he didn’t think it was what either of them had intended. Hard and fast life affirming sex was what he’d planned, but there had been something about her vulnerability, and perhaps his own, tonight that compelled a gentleness, a tenderness. And he'd certainly never meant to break the one rule he'd set for himself so long ago...don't fall for the target. He just hoped she would forgive him. 


End file.
